


Not yet

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, M/M, Post-Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens), but no bad ending either, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: The meeting in Soho 1967 does not leave Aziraphale uneffected.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 53
Collections: Good Omens Fic Writers Workshop: Weekly Prompts





	Not yet

**Author's Note:**

> Short fic written for the server prompt “Permission”

Sheets rustle, the bedframe creaks, hot breath rushes over his cheek and strong hands circle around his wrists.

_Please_

_Not yet_

A clever tongue runs along the shell of his ear, eliciting a shudder. Whispered words, only for him to hear, follow. Compliments and obscenities, affection and lust, so quiet and yet echoing in his mind.

_Please_

_Not yet_

Thin hips – sinful, skilful – slap against his bared arse, angled just so, perfect movement of a perfect body. The strong arms tighten their grip and possessive teeth sink in the meat of his shoulders.

_Please_

_Not yet_

He tries distracting himself. But this is not an easy task. It’s hard to take his mind of his arousal when his thoughts – if allowed to run free – always wander to the one he loves.

The mild wind of Eden running through long waves of soft red hair when the world was still so very young. Honest compassion and grim determination on sharp features when the Flood arrived. A seductive smirk on sinful lips over a glass of wine in Rome. A mischievous glint in deep golden eyes when proposing a scandalous Arrangement. A tall figure, appearing out of nowhere to save the day, handing over precious treasures of leather and parchment. A strong shoulder to lean on, skilled hands to help him out and a heart much too big and too good for this world.

The handsome face, pleading him to come along. Just a little ride. And maybe… maybe more.

A loud cry escapes Aziraphale when his hair is grabbed. Sharp teeth and a wet tongue attack his neck and the thrusts into Aziraphale’s yielding body become faster, harder and more desperate. The drag of a large cock along his prostate, bordering on the right side of painful, brings him even closer to edge.

_Crowley_

_Angel_

_Please_

_Let go_

_Please_

_Come for me_

Untouched, Aziraphale reaches his peak just as his lover’s manhood twitches inside him and fills him up. A duet of moans and screams mingles with lewd sound of skin on skin and accompanies the simultaneous orgasm.

The softening cock slips out of Aziraphale. The warm weight of the body above him finally rolls off, allowing him to catch his breath. When the sweet confusion of the afterglow fades, Aziraphale lifts his head and looks at the brunette man in the tight trousers who has just found his second sock. Proudly, he fishes it out of the bookshelf and puts it on.

He then turns to Aziraphale with a sly smile on his face. This face that is so sharp, so angular, so handsome and yet so very very wrong.

“You know,” he grins. “I’m giving everything and you still moan his name!”

Aziraphale blushes and averts his gaze.

“We were clear,” he says defensively when he finally dares to look at the other man again.

“Sure, sure!” Dylan says with a laugh as he pulls his obnoxious bebop-themed shirt over his lean chest. “Just my ego speaking, not my heart.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. Not much, but more than nothing.

“Still,” Dylan continues. “Must be a right idiot not to want you.”

Before he can stop himself, Aziraphale jumps up. Still naked, cum running down his thighs, he glowers at Dylan.

“Crowley is not an idiot,” he says, dangerously calm.

In a placating gesture Dylan lifts his hand.

“Alright, alright,” he says, trying to get into his ridiculous snakeskin boots.

“It’s not Crowley’s fault,” Aziraphale says.

“Hm hm.”

“It’s not mine either.”

Dylan sighs.

“I’ll see myself out,” he declares and walks to the bedroom door.

“We’re too different. It just wouldn’t…”

“Aziraphale,” Dylan says firmly. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“What?”

“Sorry, but I think you’re just scared,” Dylan says.

“What? Nonsense!” Aziraphale says. “It’s just… It’s not allowed…”

“What are you talking about?” Dylan laughs. “You of all people didn’t miss it, did you? The laws were passed. Else, what you and I are doing would be illegal, too! You don’t need anyone’s permission.”

Aziraphale furrows his brows in confusion. What is Dylan talking about? Oh.

Oh!

“Ah, no, dear boy,” Aziraphale says. “Crowley and I, we…” What was he doing? Dylan could not possibly understand. So Aziraphale smiled, “No matter! It was lovely meeting you again.”

Dylan snorts.

“Lovely,” he repeats in a teasing tone.

Then he presses a short kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead and leaves.

After getting dressed with a miracle, Aziraphale steps to the window and watches the young man disappear into the streets of London. He does not feel too guilty. Dylan is charming, handsome and clever. He will find someone.

Wistful, Aziraphale lets his eyes wander over nightly Soho. Of course he is happy for the humans that - at least in England - they can now love who they want without fearing persecution.

But there is a bitter note to his joy. Two men or two women can now love each other.

He and Crowley cannot.

Not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Made myself sad with this one. But letsall keep in my that post apocalypse they can be together. :)


End file.
